


For Fear of Trust

by Crowgirl



Series: On the Strength of the Evidence [16]
Category: Grantchester (TV)
Genre: Angst, Avoidance, Awkward Conversations, Complicated Relationships, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Canon Compliant, Sleepy Sex, Uncertainty, deflection, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: Perhaps they need to find a different club.





	1. Chapter 1

‘It must’ve been awful.’

‘What? What’s awful?’ Geordie shakes his head briskly, trying to convince himself he’s awake. He blinks at the stage and feels momentarily guilty for dozing off but, honestly, if they want people to stay awake, they need to play something a little more upbeat. They seem to have been working on the same tune since he and Sidney arrived. 

Despite that, the music doesn’t strike him as being all that bad, and he turns to Sidney, trying to stifle a yawn. ‘What’s awful?’

Sidney’s staring at the stage as though he’s had some kind of epiphany and Geordie braces himself; normally that look means he’s about to get hauled somewhere at high speed with little explanation. 

‘When we were here before -- when--’ Sidney stops and Geordie can see him flushing, a slow blush of color up from the open collar of his shirt.

‘When we were here before,’ Geordie repeats, takes a sip of his beer, and tries to cudgel his brain into working. The room is warm and not all that loud for a Thursday night in London; Johnny’s come by to do the obligatory greeting and is chatting with the guitarist from the side of the stage. The only thing that strikes him about the last time they were here is-- ‘You mean the girl?’ He’s generally prepared to accept corpses as being pretty awful; unexpected corpses perhaps even more so. 

‘No--’ Sidney stops again and picks up his glass, but doesn’t drink. 

‘Then what the hell are you going on about?’ Geordie leans forward over the table, squinting at Sidney. The light’s good enough but the air is slowly thickening with cigarette smoke and Sidney has his back to the nearest lamps. There’s a burst of laughter from the stage and the music abruptly picks up in both tempo and volume so Sidney has to lean forward to answer him. 

‘When I -- went with Gloria.’

Geordie has to think for a minute before he realises what Sidney’s talking about. ‘Oh -- oh!’ He leans back in his chair and considers. ‘I thought you said it wasn’t that bad.’ _Before the guilt kicked in at least._

Sidney rolls his eyes and drags his chair around the angle of the table so they’re sitting elbow to elbow. ‘Not for _me._ I just… It occurred to me that…’ He coughs and makes a vague gesture in Geordie’s direction and looks at Geordie for a long minute, then clears his throat, shrugs, and picks up his glass again. ‘But apparently not. So. Forget I said anything.’

Geordie looks at Sidney for a long minute, considers his profile against the dark wall beyond, then takes the last mouthful of beer and places the empty glass back very carefully on its mat. He keeps his gaze on the edge of the mat, a thin line of green against the wood of the table. ‘I didn’t let myself think about it. If that’s what you mean.’ He sees Sidney look at him out of the corner of his eye. ‘Between her and Amanda -- you had a full evening of it. And then that girl turning up dead -- you could’ve done something a lot worse.’

Sidney’s tapping his fingers on the table in rough rhythm with the music and he’s watching the musicians although Geordie can tell he isn’t paying close attention to either one. If he were, Geordie knows Sidney would be quizzing him about the tune because it’s familiar and Sidney would never miss the chance to tease him about it.

‘Not planning to do it again, are you?’ It’s meant as a joke, but Sidney reacts as though Geordie had suggested he go ask Johnny for Gloria’s phone number on the spot. 

_‘No!_ Christ, what -- is that what --’ He splutters into silence and finishes his drink in a quick swallow, pushing back his chair, taking Geordie’s empty glass, and turning to the bar before Geordie can say anything more.

* * *

By the time Sidney comes back with fresh drinks in hand, Geordie’s had time to get his thoughts in order. He nods thanks for the beer and starts before Sidney can say anything, leaning in close to his shoulder as Sidney sits. He schools himself to ignore the warmth radiating from Sidney’s skin, the faint scent of soap and clean sweat. ‘Look, I’m not saying it didn’t -- that I didn’t _notice._ I did. Of course I did.’ If he tries, he can summon up a vivid memory both of the sudden drop of his stomach and the whiskey he had drunk to fill the space. ‘I’m sayin’ --’

‘That it didn’t matter what I did.’ Sidney’s voice sounds oddly toneless and Geordie looks at him in surprise.

‘What? No -- that’s not it at all. What the hell’s wrong with you, man?’ Geordie gives him a gentle shove. ‘I’ve had a lot of years learning not to be bothered, that’s all.’ He props his forearms on the table, cupping his hands around the base of the beer glass, and adds, ‘It wasn’t like I thought you were going to go home with _me--’_

‘I would have,’ Sidney says and Geordie stops, surprised. 

‘Y’what?’

‘I would have gone with you.’ Sidney takes a sip of his whiskey and adds, ‘That evening was such a...bloody mess. That whole week was. And it kept getting worse and -- I thought I was going mad. Everything I did just...just fell apart in my hands, and -- and --’ He waves a hand vaguely and Geordie understands this is meant to cover his injury and nods, shifting position in his chair so he can put a hand on Sidney’s thigh under the table. As soon as he does, Sidney slides his fingers over the back of his hand and holds on tight, as if Geordie might slip away. 

Sidney’s silent for a long minute then glances at Geordie almost shyly and says, ‘I think she’d’ve understood -- Gloria. If I told her I’d gone with her because I couldn’t go with you.’ 

‘Instead of because you couldn’t go with Amanda.’ Geordie would like to slap himself as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Sidney turns to look at him, his face expressionless and Geordie scrabbles for something, anything, to say but all his words seem to have fled. Sidney drains his glass in a long swallow, and gets up, picking up his coat and going out past the bar with a short aside to the barman who nods, glances at Geordie, then goes back to polishing glasses.

‘Ah, Christ…’ Geordie drops his head onto his crossed hands and closes his eyes.

* * *

Sidney doesn’t show up back at the flat above the club until past midnight. There’s enough light from the street for Geordie to study the ceiling by so he’s been passing the time with that, lying flat on the thin mattress with his hands locked behind his head. There’s no clock in the room so he has no idea how long he’s been at this; it had been past eleven when he came upstairs so it’s probably early morning now. He’s got the ceiling pretty well mapped from the thin black line in the plaster that fingers out from the corner of the curtain rail over the window to the web of larger cracks around the broken light in the center of the ceiling.

He hears the stairs creak and then the squeak of the door, confirming that it is Sidney and not Johnny or the barman coming to the supply room down the hall. The door squeaks shut again and he can _hear_ Sidney standing there.

He knows that whatever he says next will be the key thing -- he and Cathy have had enough go-rounds that he knows he should be careful. The silence lasts, stretches. It can’t become uncomfortable because it started that way.

Finally Geordie sighs and twists on his side on the uncomfortable mattress. It had been kind of Johnny to offer them free accommodation but Geordie’s beginning to wonder if he wouldn’t have been better off stretched out on the floor. He can feel the springs -- so-called -- digging into his ribs. ‘Are you comin’ to bed or are you goin’ to stand there ‘til daylight?’ 

‘You kept drinking.’ Sidney’s voice is even.

Geordie sighs again, levering himself up on his elbow cautiously with the bedframe creaking ominously under him. ‘I finished the beer you bought me. Seemed rude not to.’

Sidney doesn’t take the opening. Instead, Geordie hears him take a few steps, the rasp of cloth against cloth and then something being dropped -- his coat, probably. ‘You moved the beds.’

‘Didn’t want you sneakin’ in without me knowin’.’ Geordie feels the bedframes squeak as Sidney sits down on the far edge. He hadn’t been able to do anything more than shove the frames together with one against a wall. He stretches out over the width of mattress and finds Sidney’s back, pressing his hand flat against the plane of muscle.

Sidney stiffens for a moment, then sags and sighs. ‘Geordie, I--’

‘No, ‘m sorry. That -- it wasn’t a right thing to say. I’m sorry.’

‘Does she really seem like that much of a threat to you?’ Sidney twists around, catching Geordie’s hand and pressing it between both of his own, propping one knee up on the mattress so he can sit more comfortably. ‘She’s not. She’s... really not, Geordie.’ He pauses, then laughs, tired. ‘And not because she’s married. I -- you _know_ that, I know you do!’

‘I know.’ Geordie lets himself lie back against the pillow and lets out a long breath. He doesn’t want to admit this. But he just heard the corner clock strike two and Sidney’s hands are cold and if he doesn’t want what the two of them have to fragment, he has to. ‘Lets just say you’re not the only one scared this’ll blow up in his face, all right?’

Sidney is silent for a minute and, just as Geordie is trying to think of something else to say that will make him sound less of a child, Sidney stretches out on the mattress, carefully edging close enough to rest his head on Geordie’s shoulder. The bedframe creaks and complains beneath their combined weight and Sidney must be uncomfortable lying over both of the side rails but he doesn’t move away. Geordie doesn’t pause before wrapping his arm around Sidney’s shoulders and tugging him in closer. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sidney lets his eyes drift shut, ignoring the blankets in favor of the warmth of Geordie’s body. He hadn’t intended the evening to turn into yet another round of this argument that won’t die. He feels as though he must be missing the _one_ thing, the right phrase that would make Geordie actually _believe_ what Sidney says rather than just _saying_ he does. 

Sometimes he wonders if Geordie thinks he hears something in Sidney’s voice, or draws conclusions from what is only a chance choice of words, to make him think Sidney is lying or -- at the very least -- concealing. Sidney is certain in his own mind that there’s nothing to find and nothing that he’s concealing, but now he’s not sure he’s gotten that across to Geordie, and he has no idea how to go about asking. He can feel the steady rise and fall of Geordie’s breathing under his hand and, without thinking about it very much, he undoes the closest button and slips his hand under the front of Geordie’s shirt.

Geordie lets out a long breath and shifts his shoulders slightly but says nothing.

Sidney flicks open the next button with his thumb and slides his hand upward over Geordie’s ribs. The shirt is a worn old flannel, faded to something between navy and dark grey. Sidney can’t see the color now in the light from the street, but he can see how it frames Geordie’s chest when he gets to the final button and pushes the fronts apart, tucking the fabric back under Geordie’s elbows. The flannel makes Geordie’s skin look paler than it is, the hair over his breastbone and down the center of his chest darker.

Without lifting his head, Sidney runs his hand over the rough, curling hair, keeping his touch as light as he can. When the side of his hand touches the blanket Geordie has drawn up to his waist, he reverses his path and Geordie snorts a laugh. ‘What are you doing?’

Sidney _hmmm_ s to avoid saying anything. What he’s doing is patently obvious, and Geordie is only asking to hear himself talk -- it’s something he does to ground himself and Sidney realises -- as he reverses the pass again, spreading his fingers so he can trail a fingertip and a thumb over Geordie’s nipples -- that he doesn’t _want_ Geordie to ground himself. 

This is an unreal space, this flat that isn’t even half-furnished, with no decoration, no lights, no furniture other than two chairs and two cot beds. Just for the next few hours, they’re safely held in a space that _isn’t_ Grantchester, isn’t the vicarage, or Geordie’s home, or Caroline's houseboat, or the police station, or the church. They can make this room whatever they want it to be for the next few hours and, right now, Sidney wants it to be the things he doesn’t know how to say to Geordie yet. 

Sidney closes the last few inches between Geordie and himself, flipping open the buttons of his own shirt and tugging Geordie’s shirt sleeve down so they are skin to skin. Geordie shifts and Sidney catches his breath, waiting -- then realises he’s doing it, and forces himself to exhale. 

‘Lift your feet, you…’ Geordie mutters, pulling his hand free of his cuff and fumbling at the blanket over his legs until he can drape it over Sidney as well. ‘Christ, how are you always so bloody _warm?’_ He turns on his side and props his head on one arm so Sidney has a little more room, then presses himself back against Sidney’s chest, and Sidney closes his eyes, dropping his forehead against the back of Geordie’s shoulder. Geordie hasn’t gone, hasn’t left, hasn’t declared Sidney too troublesome to bother with-- And he _never_ has -- which, Sidney is aware, doesn’t mean he never _will_ but he hasn’t _yet,_ hasn’t even hinted at it, and Sidney is suddenly so sharply grateful that tears burn his eyelids.

‘You’ve gone very quiet,’ Geordie murmurs, reaching back over his shoulder and tangling his fingers in Sidney’s hair. ‘Falling asleep?’

Sidney shakes his head, making sure to catch a stray tear on the flannel before Geordie can feel it on his skin. He pushes Geordie’s shirt down between their bodies and presses kisses in a line along the top of Geordie’s shoulder, sucking a bruise at the curve of his neck. Geordie’s fingers tighten on Sidney’s scalp; in another minute he’ll be apologizing and pulling his hand back and Sidney doesn’t want that, so he reaches up and puts his hand over Geordie’s.

‘What are you doin’...’ Geordie’s voice is thick, a little slow and Sidney doesn’t bother to answer that either. Instead, he pats Geordie’s hand as a signal to leave it where it is and takes his own hand away, raising himself up slightly on his elbow so he can slide his hand under Geordie’s arm and over his ribs and abdomen. Geordie hisses through his teeth when Sidney finds the swell of his cock through the thin material of his pants. 

Sidney closes his eyes, resting his cheek against the side of Geordie’s throat. He smoothes his palm over fabric and skin once, twice, then slides his hand further up to find the elastic and push underneath. He eases the folds of fabric and blanket out of the way with his fingertips, encouraging Geordie’s cock to harden against his palm, curve up into his fingers. Geordie is dry to the touch, as he always is and even this mundane realisation, the fact that he _knows_ this about Geordie, makes Sidney press himself tighter against Geordie’s back. He pulls his hand free for a quick minute, long enough to spit into his palm, taking a second to inhale the thick, heady scent of Geordie on his skin before pushing his hand back down. 

Geordie doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t say anything, but Sidney can hear his breathing getting heavier and feel the small motions of his hips. When Sidney pulls and circles his thumb at _just_ the right angle, Geordie’s breath comes in on what is almost a sob and, against his forearm, Sidney can feel the muscles in Geordie’s abdomen convulse: not the end, not yet, but a faint echo of it. 

Sidney closes his eyes again, relishing the small spill of moisture over his fingers, collecting it in the palm of his hand -- much better than spit -- and slicking it back over Geordie’s cock. Geordie groans and lets go of the back of Sidney’s neck, reaching down for the back of his hip instead, tugging Sidney forward against Geordie’s thigh, and Sidney gasps, suddenly sharply aware of his _own_ body again.

Geordie mutters something against his elbow where he has his arm crooked under his head and fumbles awkwardly at Sidney’s fly but Sidney reaches down to stop him. ‘No -- just -- let me?’

Geordie goes still for a moment then twists against Sidney’s chest, turning on his back and pushing himself up on one elbow. He studies Sidney’s face for a long minute and Sidney tries to make his expression transparent, hopes that Geordie will read his eyes correctly because now he isn’t sure he trusts his words. Finally, Geordie huffs a breath out through his nose and smiles, a tiny twist of his lips, shakes his head, leans forward and kisses him, then lies back in the curve of Sidney’s arm, locking his hands together behind his own head. ‘Do your worst, then.’ 

Sidney laughs and leans down to kiss the soft spot below Geordie’s throat at the angle of his collarbones. ‘I’ll do no such thing.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All thanks to my lovely betas, [Elizajane,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/elizajane) [Kivrin,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Kivrin) and [Burning_Up_a_Sun.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun)
> 
> All remaining inconsistencies are my own!

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Shakespeare's [Sonnet XXIII](http://www.bartleby.com/70/50023.html): "So I, for fear of trust, forget to say / The perfect ceremony of love’s rite, / And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay, / O’ercharg’d with burden of mine own love’s might."
> 
> And I'm not sure if this comes before or after [_The Happy Hollow of a Tree_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8663113), but I think before. I was hoping it would become clear in the writing but it didn't.


End file.
